


anything for you

by fenemee



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Baristas, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-06 05:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenemee/pseuds/fenemee
Summary: In which Choi San is the barista with a sweet demeanour and dimpled smile. Jongho specializes in singing love songs and breaking hearts while Wooyoung is the clumsy best friend. And in the midst of all this, Hongjoong is desperately trying to recruit new members into his crew, the most popular band on campus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintchoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintchoi/gifts).

> This started off with a friend’s obsession over San’s red streaks. Haven’t written a light-hearted piece in a while so here you go!

"Anything for you, miss?" The sugary voice speaks out of nowhere and I jolt in surprise. Having been engaged in a mindless conversation, Wooyoung and I instinctively jump apart from each other. I whip my head away from where I had been facing him and hurriedly puts on a smile.

“You go first. I’m not yet done deciding,” Wooyoung whispers hastily, giving me no time to answer as he gently nudges me towards the cashier counter.

Embarrassed for not realizing that we have been holding up the line, I scamper forward. I brave a quick glance at the queue behind and swallow nervously when I catch sight of the impatient looks the other customers have on. The middle-aged man clad in an iron-straight business suit lets out the weariest sigh, and this succeeds in making me feel all the more apologetic.

"Sorry," I wince as I turn back to the front. Looking back has been a grave mistake. The barista lets out a friendly laugh before he bites it down. He nods at me, urging me to speak. For a second, my thoughts drift off, and I can’t help but think of how his laughter had resembled the sound of twinkling bells.

“May I have your order? Only if you’re ready, of course.” His tone is light-hearted and teasing and I blush in response, somehow managing to blabber out my order.

As I pull out the notes from my wallet and hands them over to him, it hits me then that I have never seen him before. The quaint little coffee shop, 'Vanilla Huxley', is located only a short walk away from the university campus. Wooyoung and I have been frequenting it for the past year and it is safe to say that I can pretty much recognize all the workers by now. He must have started work in the last two weeks or so when I had been too busy with assignments to drop by.

The barista collects my payment and I jump to the opportunity to discreetly scrutinize him. His face is down-casted as he keys in my order and this only causes his bangs to fall over his long, cat-like eyes. I note down the interesting colour of his hair, jet-black with rebellious streaks of red highlights. My gaze travels downwards and I drink in the view of his straight nose and delicate pink lips, curved into a warm smile.

His tired eyes would have intimidated me if not for the fact that there is a glimmer in them that gives off a friendly disposition. He dons an outfit no different from the rest- a simple, collared turquoise shirt that his broad shoulders fill out nicely. His attire is completed with a pair of black jeans and a toffee brown apron that clinches his waist. For some magical reason, the barista manages to make the usually dull attire seem much better looking with the bright aura he emits. _Cute_, I note as he hands me my receipt with a dimpled beam.

Jongho, one of the baristas I had befriended a while back waves as I head over to the collection point, his other hand busy with the bottle of whip cream. All the way at the other end of the shop, Yunho is mopping the floor earnestly. I can’t help but feel bad for him when I catch sight of the perspiration dotting his forehead. It is a Saturday, and the coffee shop is bustling with people from all walks of life, contrary to the relatively quiet weekdays where it is only visited by students seeking a conducive place to study.

The increase in workload that comes with the weekend is evident on Jongho’s face when he shoots me an exhausted grin. I mouth him the words “good luck” as I lean forward against the counter, waiting for him to prepare my drink. However, instead of doing so, he sets the frappe he was working on aside at the collection counter and trudges towards me.

“I’m officially done with making drinks,” he confesses wearily. “My back has been creaking like an eighty-year-old.”

Jongho takes a moment to catch his breath, not forgetting to put on a blinding smile when a teenage girl trots over to retrieve her order. My eyes scan the shop, taking in the ever-ending horde of people entering through the door. Jongho shivers a little when his gaze follows mine and he registers the crowd.

“Business seems to be going really well today. Maybe it's partly due to the ditzy, prince-charming-smiles you've been throwing all over the place.”

“A little too well for my liking, actually,” he shakes his head. Jongho glides over to the sink and washes his hands before drying them on the apron. “You know what? I’ll go get a break and take over at the cashier. Catch you around later.”

“Go on then,” I chuckle and Jongho obliges, motioning for the new barista to switch places with him. Despite how dreamy he looks preparing my drink, I try my best not to look too invested as I wait patiently by the side, watching the way his fingers work swiftly. I mumble a quick “thanks” as I grab the mug, heart rate spiking a little when my fingers brush against his ever so lightly.

"It’s written all over your face. You’re into him." The blonde remarks the moment he returns to the table with his king-sized cinnamon frappe. Damn Wooyoung and how sharp he is at noticing things like that.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I brush his comment away, feigning indifference as I busy myself with switching my laptop on. “Come on, let’s start on our assignments.”

“Was that not a _flirty _exchange I was forced to witness? You can't possibly hide anything from me, Mei. We've been friends even before we learnt how to walk.” He throws me a knowing look and I sigh, eyes finally leaving the screen.

"Fine," I relent, knowing that Wooyoung isn’t going to drop the issue otherwise. I draw in a deep breath. The aroma of freshly baked cupcakes wafts through the air, tantalizing my senses. Unwilling to give him something new to tease me about, I struggle to keep my expression even as I reluctantly part my lips. "If you insist, he’s not that bad-looking I guess.”

But even as these words leave my mouth, my traitorous eyes flutter from Wooyoung's face to the back where the barista stands, in the process of making a drink for a young girl with pigtails. The sweet smile he throws her is one that makes my insides tingle. Catching myself all too late, I tear my gaze away and sneak a glance at Wooyoung to see if he had caught that. The haughty look on his face tells me that he had witnessed everything.

“But seriously though, what is up with you and baristas? First, it was Jongho, and now-”

“_Jung Wooyoung._” I hiss dangerously through gritted teeth and he has the audacity to snicker. “You do realize that this is the last place we should be having this conversation, right? The people we’re talking about are literally in the same enclosed space as us, breathing in the same air.”

“Isn’t that the whole point? Only then does gossiping come with the thrill and everything.”

Speechless, my lips part in incredulity. Deciding that I have better things to do than to entertain a conversation that is heading nowhere, I proceed to ignore him and continue typing away on my laptop. Sure, the barista is fine as hell, but a twelve-page report due in a week means I have to get my priorities straight. Fawning over him isn’t going to speed up my work process in any way.

The next hour that rolls by turns out to be fairly productive, with me managing to get a huge chunk of my work done. Wooyoung is uncharacteristically silent too, flipping back and forth through his thick pile of lecture notes. I remain focused for the most part although occasionally, I find myself peeping at the barista whenever I think Wooyoung has his eyes on his papers.

"Your hot chocolate's turning cold at this rate. I’d have thought you’ll be dying to get a taste of it, considering how it was personally prepared by lover boy himself." Wooyoung says as he examines his notes, voice thick with sarcasm. I come to a conclusion that his inability to keep his mouth shut will definitely get him beaten up one day, with said offender being myself.

A petty retort sits on the tip of my tongue and I am about to spit it out when I realize that he is right. I had been so focused on my work that I have completely forgotten about my drink. Feeling thirsty all of a sudden, I lift the ceramic mug with one hand and swallow down a generous gulp.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen when I gag instantaneously. The mug hovers mid-air for a split second as I force myself to down the remaining liquid, my taste buds screaming. The drink is horribly sweet, all sugar and cream. Nothing like the familiar taste I have come to love. The new barista is cute, that I have to admit, but I suppose more practice with making drinks won’t do him any harm.

* * *

It is half-past five in the afternoon when Wooyoung and I decide to take a break from our study session. We had our heads buried in books for the past few hours and at some point, the words on my notes have started to blur into long lines of incomprehensible scribble. Besides, Wooyoung has been moaning incessantly about how he can't bring himself to study any longer, something about the smell of the library making him sick.

"You know what? I need a break, and so do you." Wooyoung concludes as he drops his pen on the table and slumps back into the seat. "Let's head out for a bit- I'll teach you this really cool choreography I saw online the other day."

"A dance major indeed," I sigh as I flip over to the next page of my ridiculously thick Sociology textbook. Two chapters and three more article readings to go. Maybe Wooyoung's right. Maybe a break would do us both some good. “You know I can’t dance to save a life. I’ll watch you instead.”

I make no sound of protest when he reaches over to gently shut my textbook, knowing that I will sooner fall asleep than get any more work done. Eager to leave his assignments behind, Wooyoung stands up and grabs my hand, leading me away from the study area and up the stairs.

“This is miraculous,” he exhales as we peek in through the windows and find the room deserted.

“Exactly my thought,” I murmur in awe. Staring into the emptiness ahead, our hands are splayed out against the blue-tinted glass as we stand side by side in shared disbelief. “I can’t believe Hongjoong and his cronies aren’t hogging this place for once. They’re probably off to the recording studio or something.”

At the mention of the most popular trio on campus, Wooyoung’s lips morph into a sly grin. “Tell me honestly, you’re actually happy to bump into them occasionally, aren’t you? I’ve seen you making googly eyes at Jongho more times than I can count. And do I have to bring up how you’re always dragging me along to Vanilla Huxley, where he _coincidentally _works at?”

My face colours in mortification and my body goes rigid. A few seconds tick by as I struggle to think up a decent excuse, my brain whirling and spinning in circles. I’m painfully aware that all the times I had pestered Wooyoung to accompany me were nothing short of obvious, but at the same time, I haven’t expected him to be so straightforward.

“That was in the past! I used to have a crush on him, yes, but not anymore. We’re just friends now. Besides, you know that I don’t visit the coffee shop just to catch a glimpse of him.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, not very convinced.

Realizing that my reaction comes off as too defensive, I cough awkwardly and make a last-ditch attempt at sounding more composed. “I mean, I genuinely think it’s a conducive place to study at. The drinks there are pretty affordable too, don’t you think?”

“Sure. Whatever you say,” Wooyoung shrugs, smiling at how worked up I have gotten over his words. Signalling the end of the conversation, he turns on his heels and heads for the door to the dance studio. “Shall we?”

* * *

I can hardly remember the last time I felt this at ease, clad in nothing but a dingy white shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. With no bra, of course. My laptop is carefully balanced on one perched knee as I lean against the headboard, indulging in an episode of my favourite web series. A breath of satisfaction escapes me as I reach for the bag of truffle chips by my side, gaze still trained on the screen.

It is almost evening now and the sun has sunk lower into the sky, the light slowly draining away and giving way to darkness. Having submitted my twelve-page report earlier on in the day, I decided that I deserve some leisure time after enduring a week of hell at school, running on adrenaline and no sleep.

I am halfway through a large mouthful of chips when Wooyoung busts through the door without warning. Not expecting his arrival, my loud chewing comes to an abrupt stop. My right leg that had been previously dangling off the bed seizes up and assumes a less unsightly position at lightning speed. I internally thank the heavens for somehow managing not to choke.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yell after a moment of silence. Taken aback by my outburst, Wooyoung stands rooted to his spot by the entrance, the excited expression he previously wore melting away and leaving him in a flustered state. I take his stunned reaction as a chance to reach for my pillow and toss it in his general direction. “Seriously, I could have had a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung squeaks, flinching as he ducks to the side. He manages to dodge the incoming object by a mere inch. “Who would have thought you would freak out like that? You’re acting as though I’m some perverted intruder trespassing into your home.”

“That’s exactly my point.” I retort as I push myself off the bed, striding over to pick up the fallen pillow. “You could have very well been one. How did you get in?”

“Your mom let me in,” he answers haughtily, chest inflating with glee. “I think she's really fond of me. She even ruffled my head as I walked in. And I’m not kidding when I say this- she was gushing about how I would make an ideal son-in-law.”

I let out the ugliest cackle at that. “She wouldn’t say that if she knows just how tardy you are. Besides, I don’t think she’ll be pleased to find out that I’ve been doing your homework since we were nine.”

“Let’s not act like you didn’t get your end of the bargain. I had to buy you a popsicle _every single day_. It’s a wonder how you still have teeth.” I can’t help but mimic Wooyoung’s grin at the mention of our childhood days.

With absolutely no regard for personal space, he casually plops himself onto the bed and starts making himself comfortable, long limbs splayed out in every direction. “Anyway, aren’t you curious about why I came all the way over?”

“You think? You better have a valid excuse for interrupting my lazy afternoon.”

My bag of chips is positioned precariously close to Wooyoung’s elbow. Worried that he might tip it over given his clumsy nature, I hurriedly make a grab for it and move it to the study table. Wooyoung is up in an instant when I return and sink into a spot by the foot of the bed. He leans forward, face hovering way too close to mine, brown eyes alit with excitement.

“Remember how Hongjoong held a bunch of auditions last month to recruit some new members? Yeosang and I almost tripped over ourselves when we headed out of school and saw posters plastered all over the hallways. Yunho’s face was everywhere, and let me tell you, all the girls from the dance department were freaking out. Now they have one more reason to go batshit crazy over him.”

Images of curly black hair and a kind smile flash before my eyes. I’ve been friends with Yunho for around a year or so now ever since we met at the coffee shop. He’s a really pleasant person to talk to, no doubt about that. It just so happens that my attention has always been fixated on Jongho. But if I were to think about it... I do get where his fangirls are coming from.

“Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised that Yunho passed the audition. He’s always been mad genius at dancing.”

Wooyoung nods in response, genuinely happy for his friend. His smile stretches wider at the thought that crosses him mind. “Even when he’s tapdancing with the mop and thinks no one is watching?”

“Even then,” I agree firmly.

“Guess their days as the ‘Triple Threat Trio’ are over now. They’re bound to get a change of name with the addition of new members. Oh, by the way, one more person made it in. You won’t believe who’s the other guy.”

I throw myself onto the soft sheets and ponder. Uncharacteristically, Wooyoung waits patiently, as though eager to build up the suspense. It takes me quite a bit of time to come to a conclusion as I sieve through the non-exhaustive list of dance and vocal majors in my head, not until…

“No way,” I moan, widened eyes flitting over to meet his. “Please tell me it’s Seonghwa. He’s an economics major but we’ve always known how much he loves to sing. He has a really sweet voice too.”

Wooyoung twists his torso to face me and releases a strangled grunt. “Right? That’s what I told him! But for some reason, he backed out of joining at the very last minute. So yeah, it’s not him- it’s the new barista we saw at Vanilla Huxley the other day.”

_Oh. _My mouth falls open, memories of red-streaked hair and warm, brown eyes filling my mind. The last time I saw him was on Saturday, nearly a full week ago. I hadn’t gotten his name during our previous encounter, something I sorely regret and have been beating myself up over for the past few days. Why didn’t I think to peek at his nametag?

Wooyoung continues rambling on but at this point, I am no longer listening. My thoughts are straying back to those of the barista. He does seem like a dancer, now that the idea has been planted in my mind. According to whatever fragments of memory I can recall, he had a strong, solid frame. The forearms that peeked out of his sleeves were lined with lean muscles.

“Jongho told me that he’s from the vocal department too. Imagine this- that guy can sing _and_ dance. Hongjoong and his cronies were already doing so well with three members. With the five of them, I’m pretty sure they can make their official debut soon-”“The new barista,” I cut in, unable to hold back any longer. “Do you happen to know his name?”

Wooyoung frowns, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so slightly. “Why do you care? You don’t even know him personally.”

“I’m just curious.” I roll over to my side and stare at the door, not daring to look into his eyes as the lie tumbles out from between my lips. “He’s now part of the most popular band on campus, after all.”

He remains silent as he flips onto his stomach, angling his face towards mine. Wooyoung seems to be studying me, picking apart my every movement and expression under his close scrutiny. I await his response with bated breath, not trusting myself to continue speaking.

“Choi San,” he replies quietly. “His name is San.”

Such a simple name and yet... it sounds so gentle, so fitting for a person like him. Over and over again, I repeat those two words in my head, deciding that I like the way his name fits on my tongue.

* * *

“Where on earth are you?” I demand into the phone as I struggle to push open the dusty, metal gates with one hand. As I step out onto the stone path leading to the school garden, warm rays of orange sunlight hit me. My eyes instinctively squint a little from the brightness as I head further in. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, even Yeosang has no clue where you ran off to.”

“I… uh, I’m at…” Wooyoung sputters uselessly from the other end of the line and my left eye twitches in suspicion. Something’s not right.

“You’re home already, aren’t you? And is that a soccer match I hear playing in the background?”

“I’m sorry!” He squeaks, sounding genuinely apologetic. I can almost imagine the frantic look in his eyes as his voice trembles. “It somehow slipped my mind that we agreed to head home together after your gardening duty.”

I sigh deeply into the phone as I slide my bag off my shoulders and carefully drop it onto the ground. “You’re such an idiot. What am I going to do with you?”

“But I’m _your _idiot,” Wooyoung replies, all smug and cocky. I can’t help but roll my eyes despite knowing that he can’t see it. “You can’t stay upset at me for long.”

“You must have misheard me, so allow me to repeat.” I pronounce stoically as I fill up the watering can with the garden hose. The garden is fairly small, located in an isolated part of campus with three walls and a rusty fence for its surrounding. I often wonder why Seonghwa had volunteered to care for it, instead of the ones situated in a more open space that would attract more visitors. “You’re such _an_ idiot. Period.”

“Please don’t be mad. I’ll make it up to you somehow,” he pleas. A mental image of his signature puppy eyes drooping in sadness creeps into my mind and I cuss at myself for being so weak. Wooyoung’s right. I always end up letting things slide easier than I should.

I relent, left hand holding the phone to my ear while the other begins to water the daffodils, their petals a brilliant shade of golden yellow beneath the sun. “Fine. Let’s go to the movies tomorrow after school- it’s your treat, of course.”

“Can’t say I wasn’t expecting this. You’re so materialistic sometimes it hurts,” Wooyoung laments. “Is money all that you truly care about?” He lets out a tiny huff and I break into laughter at that.

“_Oh?_ Is rushing home to catch a game all that you truly care about, then?” I respond sweetly as I turn away from the daffodils. I move on to the next patch of flowers, sprinkling water on the dehydrated pansies growing on a stretch of grass near the tutorial blocks. The pansies are of a lovely colour, ranging from the lightest shade of violet to the deepest indigo. Their once vibrant petals have curled at the edges from the summer heat, their stalks limp.

I whimper internally, knowing that Seonghwa, the Head of the club, will no doubt nag at me for doing such a poor piss job at caring for the plants. But in my defence, I have never been a huge fan of nature. Seonghwa had somehow managed to coerce me into joining by engaging the use of pathos. He was close to sobbing when he told me that the club only consists of three members, including himself.

“Fair enough,” Wooyoung grumbles in resignation and my lips quirk into a triumphant grin. “Poor me. I guess I have no choice but to starve for a week. I’ll be all ribs and bones before you know it.”

“You reap what you sow,” I say coolly as I continue tending to the flowers. The sunrays are getting more relentless by the minute, causing beads of sweat to form on the back of my neck under the sweltering heat. “You have to pay for your actions. I don’t make the rules.”

“So… according to your words, you’re going to have to dry my clothes.” A deep voice rumbles out of nowhere, rough with disuse. I release a blood-curdling shriek when I realise that it isn’t Wooyoung speaking. The phone and watering can in my hands have both fallen to the ground, but at this point, they are at the bottom of my concerns.

My hands are lined with goose bumps as I twist my neck stiffly, registering the empty garden around me. Where had the voice come from? Was it a mere figment of my imagination? Shuddering in fear, I inhale deeply as I attempt to calm my racing heart. _Think rationally_, I convince myself as my eyes sweep around for signs of another’s presence. And this is when my line of sight lands on the windows of the nearest tutorial block. Yes, that must have been where it came from.

Ignoring the sound of my heart thundering against my chest, I head towards the building as discreetly as I can manage. I put in extra effort to avoid stepping on any dry leaves on the concrete in case the crunching sound gives me away to whoever is lurking around.

By the sound of it, the person who had spoken was a male. I have no idea what he was trying to do, snooping around and eavesdropping like that, but one thing is for sure- he may very well be dangerous. I decide that it is only wise for me to equip myself with a defence weapon. Slowly and carefully, I bend down to pick up the first broken branch in sight.

With the branch clutched tightly in both hands, I continue edging towards the building, trying my best to avoid crushing the pansies as I leave solid ground and step onto the grass patch. And just then, my right foot lands on something soft, something that resembles the muddy nature of soil during the wet season. But it is summer, and the soil in the garden have all hardened.

My eyes dart towards the ground and my breath catches in my throat. Because the squishy thing I had just trampled on is a hand. And said hand belongs to Choi San, who lies sprawled out amongst the pansies half-awake. He has his other hand positioned beneath his brows as if to shield his vision from the jarring sunlight. His long eyes are hooded with sleep and his white button-up is slightly translucent, a large portion of it drenched and soaking wet.

“Hurry and get off me. You’re heavy,” he rasps, and I let out my second shout of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

“In this section, we’ll be discussing how Peter Singer compares a drowning child in a nearby pond to a starving child from an impoverished country.” The professor gestures towards the huge projector screen. “Premise one assumes that these two scenarios are morally the same, and hence…”

My eyelids threaten to flutter shut as he drones on drearily. I have my chin rested comfortably against the table, both hands secured beneath. As the minutes tick by, his monotonous voice starts to fade into the background, the words on screen blurring into a web of black and white. 

I hadn’t been able to get much sleep last night. I had stared at the darkened ceiling for hours, mind reeling with images of a boy, half-asleep in a sea of purple.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be right back,” I promised, stammering profusely from where I stood over his figure. I had fallen into a frenzy the moment I realised what I had done. San’s white shirt was wet and translucent, plastered to him like second skin. “I’ll drop by the nurse’s office and grab a change of clothes before you catch a cold-”

“Woah, easy there.” San chuckled, holding up a hand to stop me from blabbering on. As though he had all the time in the world, he lazily pushed himself off the dirt and hopped onto his feet. “No need to go to such an extent and trouble yourself. Give it a few minutes. The sun will take care of it.”

The way he was taking things so nonchalantly only made me feel worse. “Are you sure? You're pretty soaked.”

San nodded reassuringly, hands patting the shirt as though there was nothing wrong with it. Still, I couldn’t seem to peel my guilty eyes off the huge, translucent spot. The way the fabric was stuck to his skin must be uncomfortable. 

“I’m so sorry about your hand. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you hurt?”

“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve apologized,” San remarked with a crooked grin. He got down on one knee and rummaged through the leaves before retrieving his backpack. “A small injury like that has never killed anyone. On the plus side, you woke me up just in time. I would have been late otherwise.”

Standing so close to him, I realised that both of us were around the same height. I had always been the awkwardly tall girl in class. Height was one of my greatest insecurities. I wondered if San preferred girls who were smaller and cuter. I bet he’d look good with someone a head shorter…

San had a contemplative look on his face as his eyes roamed over the stretch of flowers behind me. He seemed to be examining them closely. And then he paused, as though he had found the thing he was searching for. His right shoulder brushed against mine ever so slightly as he leaned forward.

I stiffened at our close proximity and he straightened up, the gentle wind tousling his hair. In his hand was a stalk of flower. A pansy, to be exact, with petals drenched in the sweetest lilac colour. It wasn’t the most vibrant violet nor the deepest indigo, but somehow, its light shade was what made it all the more striking. 

I tried not to imagine Seonghwa’s reaction if he ever finds out that his new co-worker had picked a healthy, living flower from the garden he cherishes so dearly. He would no doubt take delight in having his hands around my neck.

“Here,” San murmured as he unexpectedly pushed it into my palms, urging me to accept. 

My heart was racing impossibly fast at the touch of his warm fingers. Giddy with joy and confusion, all I managed to utter was “why?”.

His lashes fluttered as his eyes flickered between the flower and back to me. “It’s my apology for surprising you. Besides, being surrounded by so much purple, I can’t help but think that the colour really suits you.”

I have never been the kind of girl with a particular favourite colour. My go-to colour scheme changes with the seasons and often depends on my mood. But ever since he said those words, I would be lying if I say that purple doesn’t now have a special place in my heart.

The pansy still lies on my dressing table, atop a piece of napkin I had lain out carefully. I wonder how I should preserve it. Based on research I had consolidated, air-drying and microwaving flowers seem to be pretty popular methods. There’s no way I can seek confirmation from Seonghwa, not unless I risk him realising where the flower had come from. And by extension, not unless I risk myself being possibly butchered by him…

“…Mei? Earth to Mei!” A voice thunders, snapping me out of my daydream. I blink a few times to orientate myself before I find all eyes on me, the tutorial room plagued with thick, palpable silence. 

I gulp nervously as my vision shifts to the front of the room. Just as I thought, the professor is positively seething. His greying brows are pinched in agitation, his mouth set in a thin, straight line. 

“Now that your soul has finally returned, may I continue with my lecture?” He rages on, both palms flat on the table as he awaits my answer. Hushed whispers here and there, a snigger to my right.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make sure to focus.” My voice cracks and my gaze falls to the ground, too embarrassed to face him. A long sigh, and then he continues.

“Moving on to the next slide. One popular objection to Singer’s argument is that even if one donates all of his wealth to starving children, only a small difference will be made to their lives. However, an individual can make a much bigger impact by saving a drowning child. Therefore, both scenarios can be argued to be morally different. Any thoughts on this?”

By the time I finally gather enough courage to lift my head and face the screen, I catch sight of Yeosang’s worried expression all the way from the front. “Are you okay?”, he mouths, and I offer him a tiny nod.

* * *

“What was that about? Explain yourself.” Yeosang demands the moment class ends and we stream out into the corridor. “Philosophy does get dry at times, but you weren’t just zoning out. I could tell that something was on your mind.”

I have to give him some credits for being this observant. Yeosang can definitely be a world-class detective if he wants to. It’ll be hard trying to lie to him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

“You’re making this too big of a deal,” I laugh dismissively. It comes out a bit too squeaky and unnatural as I stride past him and head towards the cafeteria, one hand on my grumbling stomach.

It is lunch hour, the busiest hour of the day. A year of schooling has taught me that the only way to beat the long queues from hell is to make my way there as quickly as possible. Every second counts in this warzone. “Am I not allowed to doze off once in a while?”

The brunet picks up his pace and falls into step next to me. “That’s not what I meant. The professor called on you _thrice_ and you still managed to stay in dreamland. What were you thinking about, honestly? This is unlike you.”

Yeosang is a human lie detector and I am about to get busted.

“Since you’re so adamant on knowing, that leaves me with no choice to fess up.” A few students tumble pass me as I pause in my steps, all racing towards the direction of the cafeteria. Yeosang stops in his tracks as well, eyes flashing with curiosity. I adopt a serious expression as I lock eyes with him. “I was dreaming about food. Three back-to-back classes and I’m famished.”

Realising that he won’t be able to get anything serious out of me, Yeosang muses his golden-brown locks in defeat, creating a dent in his meticulously parted hair. Something about him reminds me of the fluffy poodle I used to play with before my neighbour migrated, taking it along with her family.

We manage to squeeze our way into the cafeteria and spot two familiar heads at a round table. To my surprise, Wooyoung has a bowl of piping hot fish noodles from my favourite store ready, set aside before an empty seat. Yunho is too busy digging into his plate of western food to notice our presence when we slide in.

“Congrats on passing the audition. You’re reduced to our personal spy now. All the juicy, first-hand gossips regarding the band better come straight to us.”

Yunho whips his head to the side, fries poking out of his mouth. His doe eyes shape themselves into half-moons and he beams at my words. “You bet. But truth be told, the fact that I made it in hasn’t really sunken in yet.”

Wooyoung sighs between huge gulps of protein shake. “Yunho’s been deflecting every single praise. I don’t know why he makes things so hard for himself. I would be milking for compliments if I were him.”

Yunho flushes pink, embarrassed, and Yeosang cracks up as he trips over his words. I turn to Wooyoung with a grin, ready to chide him. “Instead of making fun of him, maybe you should learn a thing or two about being humble.” 

“Says the one without gratitude.” He huffs as he takes a huge bite into his tuna sandwich. “I spent twenty minutes queueing for your noodles. Ask Yunho, he can vouch for me.”

The taller boy nods. Curly bangs fall into his eyes as he ducks down for another mouthful of food. “Speaking of the band, we kind of had a rough start during our first practice yesterday. Hongjoong got mad when San showed up with an injured arm. It looked like a minor sprain, but he was told to take some time off to let it heal.”

I choke on my noodles as soon as I process those words. My ravenous hunger from before has disappeared, replaced by a sickening feeling in my guts. It hasn’t once crossed my mind that the injury I caused him would hinder him from practice. And here I am, having a good time with my friends while he’s probably feeling down. How could I have been so thoughtless?

“That must suck.” Yeosang exhales sympathetically. “Did he say how he got hurt?”

“San said he twisted it by accident while dancing.”

Red, hot guilt fills me. “Have you seen San today? How is he doing?”

My obvious display of worry is met with a puzzled look on Wooyoung’s face. I grimace, aware of how unusual my reaction may seem. Yeosang must have sensed the way I tensed up because he abruptly raises an arm. “Not trying to make everything about me, but did none of you bother to buy me anything?”

Instantly, the table falls into dead silence. Yunho and Wooyoung exchange furtive glances while the brunet stares at them, disbelief painted on his face. Relief floods me and I exhale. Kudos to Yeosang’s ability to read emotions _and_ his Oscar-worthy acting skills. I definitely owe him one.

“This is an act of hate. I’m starving.”

“I had no involvement in this,” Yunho claims. His eyes enlarge a tad wider as if to come off more innocent-looking. “I was released from lesson around the same time as you guys. Wooyoung was the one who got Mei’s food.”

“What have you got to say for yourself, asshole?” Yeosang asks in a saccharine-sweet voice as he directs a tight smile at Wooyoung, eyes shining with threat.

Wooyoung responds by slurping his shake noisily through the bottle. “Don’t you have hands? You’re perfectly capable of getting things yourself.”

“Be careful. Your favouritism is showing,” Yunho comments as he leans back into his seat, done with his meal. He seems to be enjoying the scene playing out before him, shaking his head in the way that only grandfathers do. Yeosang has the audacity to snicker as he grabs his wallet and saunters away, leaving me and Wooyoung unable to look into each other’s eyes for the rest of the meal.

* * *

My face crumbles in disappointment when I enter the shop to find no traces of San. Wooyoung and Yeosang are busy gearing up for an upcoming basketball match. That leaves me miserable and lonely as I embark on my routine Saturday study session at Vanilla Huxley. My eyes roam the space once more, desperately scanning through the shop for any signs of red-streaked hair.

Instead, I spot another familiar figure clearing a table from a distance away. I head up to Seonghwa with a grin and notice how he seems to be functioning lifelessly. His red-rimmed eyes meet mine as he struggles to balance a tray of dishes in each hand.

“Hey, Mei. Who’re you searching for? You look like you’re expecting someone.” 

“I'm looking for you, of course,” I snort out a lie and Seonghwa scoffs with a half-smile. Worried that the high stack of porcelain plates may topple over, I hurriedly reach over for one of his trays. I follow closely as he stalks behind the counter and deposits them in the sink. “I haven’t seen you in a long while. What’s up?”

“College fees are sky-high, that’s what’s up. I barely have enough time to tend to the garden now that I’m working so often. I miss singing to my babies under the sunlight.” Seonghwa laments as he separates the trash from the dishes and tosses them into the bin.

It’s unusual to see the normally sweet and soft-spoken Seonghwa so gloomy and down. He tends to ramble on when he is tired, and if anything, the purplish eye bags he wears are enough to testify.

“You _sing_ to the plants? You’ve never once sung for me. This is ridiculous,” I exclaim incredulously, my arms akimbo. Seonghwa attempts to bark out a chuckle, although it comes out more like an exhausted wheeze.

“I heard somewhere that doing so helps the flowers blossom. Now get out of the kitchen before you’re seen in the working vicinity.” He shoos me away with both hands and I scurry back out.

In the mood for procrastination, I plant myself by the collection counter and lean forward, both elbows on the wooden plane. Seonghwa has moved on to preparing drinks and is too preoccupied to entertain me, the unwashed dishes momentarily forgotten as they sit in the sink. 

Over at the cashier, Yunho is collecting a customer’s payment, his hands working swiftly as he counts the cash. I wave to him and he spares me a quick smile before he turns away and picks up the change.

“Where’s Jongho?” _And San?_ “It’s unusual to see just the two of you working on a weekend.”

“He’s not on shift today. Jongho got himself a place closer to campus and is busy with moving. Besides, it’s not just the both of us. San’s working as well. He should be heading back from break anytime soon.”

My heart jumps in excitement at the mere mention of his name and all my senses sear to life. I make sure to keep my voice even and composed as I continue chatting with Seonghwa. I shift my body position in the slightest, making sure that I can see the entrance through my peripheral vision whenever someone enters.

“That’s great news,” I hum, eyes flickering back from the door to the barista. “It’s always been inconvenient for him to travel to classes from the outskirts of the city. Did he mention which part he’s shifting to?”

Seonghwa nods feebly, uncapping the container of sugar before he reaches in with a teaspoon. “It’s close to work, I think. So probably around somewhere in this neighbourhood.”

His movements slow to a pause, a small smile lighting up his features as he stares at the spot behind me. “Ah, look who’s here.”

I don’t have to turn around to know who Seonghwa is referring to. But I still do, spinning on my heels at the sound of his footsteps edging closer. I draw in a nervous breath when he comes into my line of sight. San looks no different from the day I first saw him. He has on the usual work attire, a turquoise shirt that he tucks neatly into his tight jeans.

The way it hugs his figure snugly reminds me of how his drenched attire had clung stubbornly to his skin. I haven’t been able to stop worrying about the hand injury I inflicted on him. But thankfully, his hand looks fine from where I stand, no longer red or swollen like I recall.

“You’re finally back.” Seonghwa exhales in relief as he stirs the mug of coffee with renewed vigour. It may be a figment of my imagination, but his previously hunched figure seems to straighten up a little, as though a huge burden has been lifted off his shoulders.

San promptly retrieves his apron from the storeroom and puts it on, his hands behind his back as he secures the strings tightly. He takes one look at Seonghwa’s sunken face and bursts out into laughter, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls. Yunho shoots us a curious expression as he glances over.

“I was only gone for half an hour and you’ve visibly aged.” San huffs as he tries to catch his breath, grinning from ear to ear. Seonghwa offers him a soulless look in response and San reaches over to pat him on the shoulder. “I’ll take over from here. Go for your break, you look like you’re about to collapse.”

The older male gratefully obliges and utters a “see you later” as he nudges open the door to the storeroom. He disappears into the dark room and I hear a huge sigh escape him as he finally takes a seat. Twisting back to the front, I am taken by surprise when I find San staring at me intently from behind the counter. 

There is a dimpled beam on his face as he leans forward, his eyes shaped into crescents. A tingling sensation swims through my veins when I register how close his face is to mine. San tilts his head in interest as he sets his arms on the counter. I am about to part my lips, ask him if his hand has healed when-

“Good afternoon miss,” he says sweetly. “Have you collected your order?”

It would have hurt less if someone were to physically prick me with a thousand needles. There is no trace of recognition in those bright eyes as the seconds drag by and he awaits my response. My heart clenches, because I come to the realisation that he doesn’t remember what had happened between us. He doesn’t recognise me.

_But what about the pansy? _The one I had so delicately brought home and kept. I don’t register the words that I mumble next. My mouth moves to form some kind of excuse and before I know it, I have dashed out through the door, hurt and disappointed.

* * *

With a hollow feeling in my chest and my head hung low, I exit the elevator and trudge through the corridor. The neighbourhood is strangely quiet for a Saturday afternoon, as though the evening lull had somehow set in earlier than usual. I feel numb as I replay the tragic scene in my head, too preoccupied with my self-pitying thoughts to notice the obstruction standing in my way. 

A yelp of pain escapes me when I snub my right toe against the heavy box. Wearing these sliders out has been a huge mistake. I can’t help the scowl that spreads across my face when I take in the view before me, realising that there is not only one, but several other cardboard boxes littered along the corridor. 

The door to apartment 2051 is thrown wide open. It has been vacant for the past few months now, and it seems only logical to conclude that someone must be moving in. Someone _irresponsible_, I correct myself as I examine the mess of sealed and half-opened boxes around me. 

I’m evidently not in the best mood to interact with a new neighbour at this particular moment, but sweet old Mr Lee who lives next door is getting on with age. His eyesight has been deteriorating and I’m afraid that he might only trip over and hurt himself.

Fuelled by my conscience, I gather whatever strength I have left and storm over, taking extra care to avoid all items in the way. I peek in from the outside and make out how the interior of the apartment is similarly cluttered with boxes. The only difference lies in how most of them have been opened, leaving ropes of duct tape dangling from the edges. 

I press on the doorbell a few times before I realise that it is not working. Shuffling closer, I proceed to knock on the half-opened door only to garner no response. Maybe I should have followed Wooyoung’s advice to read up on my daily astrology chart instead of teasing him. Maybe then I would have chosen to stay home, knowing that today would turn out to be a disaster. I turn on my heels in dismay, about to leave when I hear a familiar voice calling my name.

“Mei? What are you doing here?” Jongho gawks as he materializes from the dimly lit apartment, his dark hair matted with sweat. Still recovering from surprise, he slowly heads to where I stand by the door. His jaw has fallen so wide open he looks almost comical.

“I should be the one asking that. I live here, two doors away.” I say distractedly as I gesture to my right. It’s a real struggle as I concentrate to keep my focus above his neck. Heaven must be testing me, because the sleeveless shirt he has on does a good job of exposing his toned biceps. “I can’t believe this, it’s too coincidental.”

“My aunt’s family used to live here. They migrated a while back and she hasn’t been able to find a tenant. She decided she might as well let me use it at a dirt-cheap rate. So here I am,” Jongho motions to the apartment fondly, looking so delighted that my lips naturally curve into a smile.

“Have you been moving and unpacking alone?” I can’t help but shiver at that thought as I take in the sight of numerous boxes pooled at the door. “This looks like a tedious task.”

“Oh, trust me, it is. Mingi picked me up and drove me here. But he was making such a mess out of everything that I told him he could leave. And I’m not kidding when I say that he bolted at that very instance.” Jongho chuckles as he leans against the door frame, one arm folded over the other. My traitorous eyes find themselves gliding over the prominent curve of his arms before I tear them away.

I have long forgotten how infectious Jongho’s laughter is. I laugh along with him, feeling light for the first time since I left the coffee shop. “No offence, but I would have ditched you too if I were stuck in the same position. I mean, look at all of this. How much stuff do you even own?”

He wipes at an imaginary tear. I brace myself mentally, knowing all too well that he’s about to pull the guilt-trip card. “I was actually hoping that you’ll offer some help. But I guess investing in friendships just isn’t trendy anymore, huh? It’s every man for himself now.”

The radiant smile slides off my face and Jongho breaks into a smirk, sensing how I’m about to give in. My face sours and I sigh dramatically. “You’re too good with words. I’ll have you know that I start at the basic rate of ten an hour.”

“I’ll sneak you a glazed doughnut the next time you visit Vanilla Huxley and that’s it.” Jongho says with finality, his dark eyes glinting with humour.

“Damn it, you know me too well. I’m a slave for _anything_ sweet. I’ll take the offer,” I declare without missing a beat, extending an arm for a handshake.

“That was some quick decision-making.” Jongho raises a brow as he stares at my outstretched arm, amusement written all over his features. He takes it into his own and we shake on it, sealing the deal. “You know what? If you do a good job, I might even consider walking you home.”

“Excuse me?” I gawk in disbelief, loosening my grip on his hand. A huge grin grows on his face, threatening to split it in half. “I’m over at unit 2049. You’re making such a big deal out of what? Taking ten steps? Maybe the media is right. Chivalry is dead.”

Jongho’s body shakes as he laughs heartily, his calloused hand warm and strong on mine. A feeling of warmth envelopes me as his deep laughter rumbles through his apartment. My gaze travels down his dark, kind eyes and lands on his wide smile. And all of a sudden, I am reminded of all the reasons I had once liked him before.


	3. Chapter 3

“No way,” Yunho howls as he releases a shuddering breath. “Did you guys catch that? He got right back up from the floor work with a frontal flip. Just _imagine_ how strong those thighs are.”

Wooyoung nods fervently and makes a garbled noise in acknowledgement. I don’t respond, too awe-struck as my eyes train on the tiny screen in Yunho’s hands. We would be a sight to behold if anyone were to walk in at this very moment- three young adults huddling in a dark, cramped corner of the studio as we ogle over a dance video.

“It’s almost like he doesn’t even have bones. Life’s not fair.” Wooyoung exhales sharply as soon as the video ends and the screen fades to black. “And here I am, struggling to reach for the toilet roll when I’m not done and it rolls away.”

I scrunch my face and throw him a look of distaste. He merely shrugs and uncrosses his legs, unbothered. “Thanks for sharing that. I could have gone my whole life without that harrowing image burned into my mind.”

Yunho shares my sentiment, getting up on his feet as he slowly backs away from the blond. “Now, that was some repulsive information. I’ll have you know that I had a very big lunch and it’s currently not sitting well in my stomach.”

Wooyoung’s grin only widens at that. “As much as I’m glad that the conversation revolves around me, how did you manage to get an empty room? It’s a known fact that Thursdays are off-limits. Mingi’s usually spinning out some new choreographies this time of the week.”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s specially reserved for the band or anything. Anyone can use it as they please. All I did was tell Mingi that I plan on using the studio and he was cool with it.”

Yunho’s addition to the band sure comes with its perks. I blow a whistle. “Sweet.”

“About time he realises that he’s been hogging the room.” Wooyoung snorts. “The way the band gets away with everything.”

Yunho shakes his head in protest. “It’s not like that. The three of them. They’re really humble and easy-going, actually. Don’t let the illusion of their popularity trick you.”

Wooyoung doesn’t seem to hear those words. He rises to his feet and brushes imaginary dust off the back of his sweats. “Come on, let’s go try some of the moves.”

“You know I can’t dance. I’m just here to cheer you guys on.”

“Who says so? Anyone can do it,” he insists, offering me a hand. “Just trust me. We’ll do the simpler parts. I’ll break them down then slowly explain then to you.”

Both Wooyoung and Yunho are known to be amazing dancers, and the choreography we just saw isn’t exactly the easiest. The closest thing to dance I’ve attempted most recently has to be the mandatory aerobics session from a few months back. Even that, I participated in begrudgingly. The fact that I’m in the gardening club pretty much explains how active I am.

As though he reads the words of rejection falling from my lips before I even say them, the sparkle in Wooyoung’s enthusiastic eyes dims a little. I feel bad almost instantly, hurriedly reaching forward to grab his hand before he can retract it.

“You’re like a child who can’t handle rejection.” I sigh, bracing myself for the doom that lies ahead. “And I just happen to be a doting mom.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Wooyoung assures, an encouraging smile softening his features as he pulls me to my feet. “Give us a bit of time. We’ll digest the choreography before making things easier for you to follow.”

“You know what? I’m way too much of a pushover for my own good. You guys are blessed to have me as a friend.”

“Uh, Mei, people don’t usually say those things about themselves.” Yunho remarks as he steps past Wooyoung and stations himself by my other shoulder. He looks me in the dead in the eye and I recognise the look of competitiveness blazing in them. “You’ve only ever seen Wooyoung dance before. Save those compliments for me. I’m about to nail this.”

* * *

The studio is significantly quieter with Wooyoung’s absence. Yunho and I are curled up in the same cosy corner from before, scrolling through more dance videos as we attempt to catch our breaths. I had called for a timeout from our intense session, my knees wobbly from exertion.

Wooyoung had left for the vending machine a little while prior to get some drinks. The blond seized up with disbelief when he asked me what I wanted. “What’s the point of the last two hours, then? You’ve been moaning incessantly about losing weight for the past week. You’ll gain it all back with a bottle of sugar.”

The amount of guts he had to bring up that topic. I stood firmly by my stance. “Chocolate milk helps to relieve sore muscles. It’s a fact. You can’t argue with science.”

Wooyoung clicked his teeth. “Whoever said that? We both know how you’ve been borderline passing science your whole life.”

“Actually,” Yunho piped in, “make that two bottles. I was the one who told her that. I’ve been relying on it for years now and it works like magic.”

“Yeah, definitely adding up now. The calcium’s probably why you’re as tall as a tree.” Wooyoung seemed to shrink along with his confidence. He threw me a sheepish glance as he reluctantly grabbed his wallet and headed out of the studio. “You better not grow any taller from the milk, Mei. You’re already two centimetres ahead of me.”

It has been a good five minutes since he left when I hear the door creak open. Engrossed in the video playing before us, neither one of us bother to turn around and greet him. I merely acknowledge Wooyoung’s presence with a half-assed attempt to come off as threatening. “I hope you have chocolate milk in your hands. Or else.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but my hands are empty.” I almost hiss in response. Thankfully, I catch myself in the nick of time, registering how the voice does not belong to the blond. It sounds somewhat familiar and my breath hitches in my throat when I recognise its owner.

Yunho and I promptly spin around, realising who had walked in at the same moment. My line of sight falls on red-streaked hair peeking out from beneath a cap, cat-like eyes and pink lips quirked in amusement. “Hey, Yunho. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Yunho grins widely as he beckons the newcomer over. “What are you doing here? Come over and meet my friend! We were just taking a break.”

San obliges and strolls in, both hands tucked into the pockets of his training pants. With each step he takes, my heartbeat races a little faster. “I was planning to do some self-practice since I missed out on a few sessions. Are you sure I’m not intruding?”

“Nah, it’s all good. There’s plenty of room for four- there’s one more guy outside getting a drink. You don’t mind right, Mei?”

Not trusting myself to speak in case my voice comes out as a nervous squeak, I shake my head vigorously. I shouldn’t be this affected by him, I remind myself. He doesn’t even remember me. My eyes lower themselves at this thought and I watch him from the waist down as he advances closer towards us. And then his movements halt before me.

“Have we met before? You look a little familiar...”

Yunho nudges me with his foot and I realise that the question was meant for me. I raise my head and I am met with a pair of curious eyes from above. Where do I even begin? How do I tell him that we have met on multiple occasions, just that he can’t seem to recall any of them?

His piercing gaze holds me in place, travelling down my face and my neck before it rests on the lilac hoodie I have on. Under sheer the intensity of his stare, I almost forget how to breathe. And then his contemplative expression melts into a warm smile and I relax a little.

“I remember you! You’re the purple girl, the one who trampled over me.” And then, as though sharing a secret, he mutters the next words softly so that only I can hear. “My wrist doesn’t work right till this day.”

The colour drains from my face and San lets out a melodious laugh. “I’m kidding. It’s all good now.” To prove his point, he demonstrates by twisting his hand to the left and right. I can’t help but wince at the sight.

Yunho gapes from the side as he watches our exchange. “You guys already know each other? I’m presuming that you met at the coffee shop.”

_No_, I want to holler. _He doesn’t recognise me from there. I’m just another customer._

San’s brown eyes flash with surprise as he joins us on the floor. I feel paralysed in place as he occupies the space before us, facing Yunho and I. “You’ve been to Vanilla Huxley? I just started work there but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll definitely see her some time or another. She’s a loyal regular.” Yunho says unhelpfully as he stands. A spike of fear runs through me as he heads for the door, a kind of urgency in his steps. “I’m going to the washroom for a quick second. You guys will be okay, right? Since you’ve met before and all.”

“Sure, go on ahead. You can’t ignore nature’s call.” San jokes as he pulls off his cap, the red streaks in his hair glinting beneath the bright lights. Yunho grunts in dismay, throwing a rude gesture with a particular finger as he leaves.

I break into laughter at that and San’s twinkling eyes meet mine. “What were you guys up to before I came in?”

“We were just fooling around. I can’t really dance so they were trying to teach me some moves.” I pull out my phone to show him the choreography and he naturally shifts in closer to peer at the screen.

“Ah, I’ve seen this one before. I can help you in the meantime, while Yunho attends to his bodily needs.” San wiggles his brows with humour, one hand musing his hair absentmindedly.

One part of my brain instantly goes off and starts screaming “yes!”, while the more rational half chants “no”. Am I really prepared to embarrass myself in front of him? I have no doubt that being part of Hongjoong’s crew means that he is exceptional at dancing. I part my lips to decline when he cuts in.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten your name yet. I’m San, by the way, and I’m in the same band as Yunho.”

_Yeah, I know who you are_. Little does he know that his name has been running through my mind ever since the start of the semester.

“Mei,” I blush, and San repeats after me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this shy before someone of the opposite gender. I have somehow been reduced to a blabbering mess.

“May, like the month?”

I shake my head and spell it out for him. “You got that part right, though. I was born in May.”

San tilts his head up as he laughs, as free-spirited as he always seems whenever my eyes trail after him on campus. He pulls on the most blinding smile and turns to me, his tiny dimple on full display. “Well Mei, would you like to dance with me?”

* * *

“What are you standing here like a block of wood for? Go on in,” Yunho’s voice booms from the outside as the door to the studio is pushed open once more. I pause in my movements, twirling around just in time to see the dark-haired boy shove Wooyoung into the room.

Immediately, I recognise that something is off. Wooyoung has the foulest scowl on his face as he trudges in reluctantly. His knuckles are turning white from where he is holding the bottles of milk in a death-grip.

“What’s wrong?” I demand as I hurry over towards him. “Are you sick?”

I reach forward to place my hand on his forehead but he pushes it away. “It’s nothing. I’m just a little tired.”

Wooyoung looks guarded for some reason, his wavering eyes fixing on anything but mine. A small spike of hurt pricks me but I sweep that feeling aside. “But you were fine just ten minutes ago. Did you catch a cold outside or something? The weather’s been chilly the past few days.”

“Now that you mention it, Wooyoung does look out of it.” Yunho remarks in agreement as he examines the blond. “We should probably stop here and call it a day.”

“No, you guys go on ahead. I shouldn’t ruin whatever you were doing with… with your friend.” He mumbles distractedly, choking on the last word.

Wooyoung’s emotions have always been flighty and subjected to mood swings. But I haven’t seen him behave in such a manner in a long while. He isn’t jealous of San, is he? We’re not teenagers anymore. It doesn’t make sense for him to get so worked up over his friends hanging out with someone else.

“Hey, no worry about that. I was planning to do some self-practice anyway. You guys should head home and get some rest.” San says with genuine concern as he comes over and Wooyoung flinches.

“It’s fine, I’ll just sit at the side for a bit.” He puts on a strained smile as he passes me one of the bottles and hands Yunho the other. He waves at San half-heartedly before he slumps against one side of the room. Yunho and I exchange a dumbfounded look as he sulkily whips out his phone and starts to scroll through it.

“Did I do something wrong? I think he’s upset that I joined in.” San whispers, looking perplexed. His forehead is creased as he stares at Wooyoung’s sunken figure on the ground.

I shake my head and offer him the most reassuring smile I can conjure. Not knowing what to say, I glance down at the bottle of milk in my hands, realising that it is no longer cold and closer to a lukewarm temperature.

I wonder if Wooyoung had taken so long to come back because he was caught up with chatting with a friend he bumped into, or if he had stood by the windows and watched the interaction between San and I. Either way, I head home with an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach, my dreams not made up of purple for once.

* * *

My shoulders slump in defeat as I watch fragments of the eggshell slide into the frying pan. No matter how many times I’ve done this, I can’t seem to crack an egg right. How exactly does Gordon Ramsey do it so effortlessly, with just _one _hand at that? I groan in displeasure as I remove the fragmented shells with a spoon and turn up the heat of the stove.

I haven’t had anything to eat since I’ve woken up that morning, opting to lay in bed for a few more hours. Next thing I knew, it was already twelve in the afternoon. I can hear Wooyoung’s voice in my head, chiding me for being lazy and unproductive. Speaking of the blond, I haven’t really spoken much to him ever since that day. He seems to have a never-ending list of excuses at hand for not being free to hang out.

The doorbell rings at this moment and I trot over to the door. I peer into the peephole curiously, wondering who it can possibly be. My parents are both busy working, and lord knows it can’t possibly be Wooyoung either. To my surprise, I see Jongho standing in the corridor, looking somewhat embarrassed as he straightens his shirt.

“Good afternoon,” he coughs the moment I open the door. “Did I wake you?”

I can only imagine how much of a visual wreck I must be. Not expecting anyone, I haven’t bothered to comb my hair nor change out of my sleeping attire. I smile grimly at him, ashamed. “Don’t worry, you didn’t. I was just cooking lunch.”

His kind expression shifts to a more serious one as he wrinkles his nose. “That explains the smell. Don’t be alarmed, but I think whatever you’re cooking might be burnt.”

Realizing that I had completely forgotten about the stove, a gasp escapes my throat as I make a mad dash for the kitchen. Jongho manages to reach the stove before I do, sprinting towards it before he switches it off at record speed. The egg lies in the pan, charred beyond recognition.

For a moment there, we stand shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, panting as the burnt stench wafts through the air. I catch sight of Jongho’s sliders haphazardly strewn along the doorway from where he had kicked them off. He naturally glances to see what I am looking at and both of us explode into laughter.

“You truly are an Asian. No shoes in the house no matter what, right?”

He shrugs casually, biting down on the huge grin spreading across his face. “What can I say? My parents raised me well.”

“This reminds me that I shouldn’t ever feed your ego,” I laugh, shaking my head as I scrape the burnt matter off the pan and toss it into waste bin. “What are you here for, anyway? I haven’t seen you around since you moved in a few days ago.”

Jongho picks up his sliders and places them neatly by the entrance before he returns. “The good news is, I’m down to unpacking the last of my belongings. But my scissors got lost somewhere among the mess and I was hoping you’ll lend me one. Who knew I would end up destroying your lunch, huh? I even heard your stomach protest and it’s making me feel bad.”

Horrified, my jaw falls open. “It did _not _grumble.”

“It did, though.”

“Fine, whatever it is, I’m starving. Now, would you be a _darling_ and help fetch another egg from the fridge?” I request in a saccharine sweet voice, mimicking the way my kindergarten teacher used to speak and Jongho gags a little. He obliges anyway, muttering a “yes ma’am” as he passes me by.

“You’re only having this for lunch?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. I haven’t done grocery shopping in two weeks. My laziness got the better of me.”

“I don’t have much over at my place too… but I can spare you some leftover rice and kimchi. How about this? As an apology, I’ll make you some kimchi fried rice.”

My expression brightens and my beam grows unbelievably wide at that. I haven’t tasted anything other than eggs for my last three meals and any other food sounds like a luxury at this point. I answer promptly without skipping a beat. “I’ll take that apology.”

And Jongho keeps to his word. He turns out to be a pretty good cook, contrary to what I had expected. As I stand behind his shoulders trying to catch a glimpse, the familiar, aromatic scent of fried rice fills my nostrils and I inhale deeply.

“Now, watch this.” He demands as he lowers the heat of the stove and scoops the rice into a bowl. He reaches over for one of the items he had brought over in a hurry and to my astonishment, pulls out a huge bottle of barbeque sauce.

My first thought is that the condiment seems extremely unfitting for the meal. Not wanting to come off as a picky eater, I word my sentences carefully. “Are you sure about this? It might not go too well with the rice.”

“Hush,” he says, his brows furrowed into a thick line as he concentrates. “Just trust me on this.”

I hum in response, giving in. Trying something new won’t hurt. I watch curiously as Jongho pops open the bottle and attempts to draw a smiley face on the rice. “I’ve been eating anything and everything with barbeque sauce. It never disappoints.”

Satisfied with the way it looks, Jongho blows on a spoonful of rice carefully before he holds it out for me. My heart does a little flip and I can’t help but think of how he will be a great boyfriend. He nods once, urging for me to go ahead and try it. The vibrant smile painted on his face leaves me wondering if my reaction may disappoint him.

But it seems like I was worried for nothing. Because as soon as I put the spoon in my mouth, a myriad of flavours explodes on my taste buds and my eyes widen in awe. The smoky, tangy flavour of the sauce complements the spice of the kimchi and the mild taste of rice. I chew my way through that mouthful slowly, savouring every bite.

“How is it?” Jongho asks, even as he sees the answer written on my face. He leans against the counter, both hands folded over his chest as a cocky grin settles on his lips. The words “I told you so” are etched on his forehead.

“You’re fishing for compliments,” I taunt. “All I’ll say is, I felt like Remy from Ratatouille when he put strawberry and cheese in his mouth.”

“That’s the scene where the fireworks went off, right?” Jongho beams.

* * *

“What do you think you’re doing?” Yeosang exclaims, lines of horror wrinkling his usually flawless skin as he zeroes in on my plate. He places the roll of kimbap back down on the table and swallows with difficulty, as though he has lost all appetite.

“Minding my own business and enjoying lunch?” I reply nonchalantly as I carefully peel the skin off the sweet potato. It is baked to a slight crispiness, just the way I like them. “What’s so odd? Have you never seen anyone consuming sweet potatoes before?”

“Stop right there. Do _not _do what I think you’re about to do.” Seonghwa pronounces sternly. The knife and fork in both his hands have stilled and his salad remains untouched.

“What’s up with you guys?” I feign confusion as I finish peeling the last of its skin off. Then, I carefully remove the cap from the bottle and proceed to drown the sweet potato in an alarming amount of barbeque sauce.

“She’s a monster,” Yeosang declares in disapproval as he looks away.

Seonghwa isn’t of any help. He places his utensils down, done with his meal before he even began. “Mei just did the devil’s work. I don’t know who she is anymore.”

I chuckle at their behaviour and continue to squeeze more of the sauce on the potato, making sure that there is a bit of it on every surface. Both of them look mildly insulted as I continue with my hearty meal.

Yeosang can’t seem to hold his tongue. “Listen, this is a form of abuse. You’re abusing the condiment.”

I ignore his words as I peer over his shoulders to where Hongjoong and his crew resides. Yunho had been caught in a dilemma recently. He confronted me this morning and admitted to feeling bad for always declining the band’s invitation to sit together during lunch. I managed to persuade him that it is totally fine for him to join them, justifying that he can just hang out with us on alternate days.

And so, there they are, the five most popular guys on campus occupying the table right smack in the middle of the cafeteria. They are boisterous as usual, laughing loudly and cracking jokes here and there. There a few girls surrounding their table, loitering around for a suspiciously long period of time.

In the midst of the chaos, I manage to make out a head of fluffy, ink-black hair. There is Jongho, sitting next to San as he talks animatedly with his hands. But my eyes are not on the boy with the red-streaked hair this time. They are on Jongho and the bottle of barbeque sauce that sits by his plate. His dark eyes catch mine and he sends me a playful wink through the never-ending stream of people passing by.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this as a gift for saintchoi's birthday! Hope everyone enjoys reading ☺

The door to the seminar room opens with a toe-curling creak and my ears perk in interest. I can’t help but pick up on the latecomer’s obvious state of panic as he hurries in, footsteps thudding urgently against the ground.

A shiver courses through my spine as cold gusts of wind blow relentlessly. Maybe it had been a bad idea to sit at the back row, right beneath where the air conditioners are. But then again, I have made this my usual sitting spot for a reason. The professor has a penchant to call on whoever her line of sight falls on and I can’t say I’m keen on being a victim.

“There is a blurred and indistinct line drawn between mankind and the gods in _The Odyssey_. Odysseus is gifted with both wit and physical prowess that exceed mere mortals. Some scholars argue that such elevated abilities are comparable to those of the gods.” Professor Lee proclaims as she prances about before the audience, her eyes wide with feverish passion. The good thing about her enthusiasm has to be how it is impossible to doze off despite being eight in the morning.

Wasting no time at all, I find myself typing away madly as soon as she pauses for breath. I vaguely register the shuffling sound to my right as I chase after her words, her lips moving so fast she might as well be spitting bullets. I have barely finished taking down the point when my peripheral vision narrows in on a figure shifting into the back row.

“Mei?” The latecomer calls, hesitant, as though unsure if he had approached the right person.

I turn to the side absentmindedly. Nothing can prepare me for the sight that soon graces my eyes. Lo and behold, before me stands Choi San in all of his glory. He cracks a blinding smile by the aisle and waves. _Is this even real life?_

A wave of dizziness washes over me as I drink in the way he is positively drowning in his hoodie. I shake my head twice to regain my senses. And then, hoping to come off composed, I plaster on a tight smile and nervously beckon him over. San obliges gratefully and promptly shifts his laptop to the seat next to mine.

“Good morning,” he whispers in a hushed greeting, careful not to disrupt the ongoing seminar. The dimple I had missed so dearly peeks out adorably from the side of his cheek. I am utterly mesmerised. Never in my life have I wanted to poke something so badly.

San pulls open his laptop cheerily, not noticing the effect he has on me. “You have no idea how glad I am. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here.”

“Same here,” I confess, cringing instantly when I realise how nasal I sounded. I haven’t spoken all morning since I woke up, my voice resembling that of a gurgling sink. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in class.”

“And that is because I _haven’t_ been around. And no, I did not skip three weeks’ worth of seminars, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I pull on a sceptical face but urge him to continue. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“You know how we’re mandated to take certain modules from other faculties? I had to clear humanities, but as it turns out, sociology isn’t for me. I appealed to have it dropped last week and here I am.”

“This is new,” I hum, intrigued. Professor Lee’s voice has long faded into the background as I invest all attention on the boy beside. “Even those in arts and social sciences shun literature. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone from another faculty being interested in it, much less _Backgrounds to Western Literature and Culture_.”

A long-forgotten memory resurfaces at this very moment. The image of Wooyoung’s face fills my mind, his mouth widening to let out a drawn-out yawn at the screen before him. The last time I dared to put on a literature piece in his presence, he had been such a pest, moaning incessantly about how boring it was throughout the entirety of the movie. Incredulous, I had spent a good hour educating him on how celebrated Wong Karwai’s contributions are in the film industry.

The memory fades away as soon as it appeared, leaving an aching hole in my chest. I haven’t seen Wooyoung in slightly more than a week, and as clingy as this sounds, that’s the longest we’ve ever been apart. Something tells me that he’s avoiding me. I draw in a tiny breath as I shut the unhappy thoughts out, unwilling to give in to them when San is right here, next to me.

“…there weren’t many options left when I decided on a change in module. Or maybe, I’m not like the rest. Maybe I’m different.”

The side of his lips tugs up playfully at that and blood rushes to my cheeks. I look away bashfully as I rebut his flirtatious comment. “You must be what the internet calls a special little snowflake, then.”

“And that is why you should be incredibly honoured.” San remarks in a grave tone, not that I can take him seriously. “It looks like this special snowflake is going to spend the rest of the semester with you.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. But by the rest of the semester, you mean half a seminar each week, right?”

I smile, triumphant as he chokes in shame. San shoots me a dry smile. “I’ll have you know that I was late because I was lost. The literature building is located at the _edge of hell_. Finding my way here was like getting stuck in a labyrinth.”

I suck in the snort before I can release it, enjoying the way my words rile him up. “From an objective point of view, that’s a real terrible excuse.”

“I’m horrible with directions. You’ll found out soon enough, the more we see each other.” San lets out the weariest sigh as if to prove his point. But his brown eyes betray him, shining with warmth and humour as he holds my gaze. My heart swells with joy and in this moment, I know without a doubt that I’ll be looking forward to this time of the week.

* * *

“There’s no reason to freak out.” Jongho laughs after stealing a glance at me. He sets the beverages down on one end of the table and shakes his head fondly. “You’ll get along with them just fine, I promise.”

“We both know I’m not a social butterfly.” I can’t help but worry as I unpack the snacks from the grocery bag. “I’ve never actually talked to Hongjoong or Mingi before. We might end up really awkward.”

“Mei,” Jongho exhales. He puts down whatever he was arranging and shuffles a little closer towards me. He tilts his head slightly, dark eyes gazing into mine. “Yunho and I will be here. San as well, he’s easy to talk to. I’m sure you’ve seen him around at Vanilla Huxley.”

“I mean, there’s the whole band… and then there’s me. I can’t help but feel like I’m intruding.”

“It’s not an exclusive gathering. It just so happens that they’re my closest friends. Besides, you would have snapped my head off if I threw a party right under your nose and not invited you.”

I nod feebly, knowing full well that I can’t deny that. Satisfied with my response, Jongho leans forward to ruffle my hair reassuringly. That small gesture leaves my stomach swimming with a strange sensation. “You don’t have to feel like a stranger. My friends know a fair bit about you.”

“They do?” I raise my brows in surprise.

Jongho looks uneasy all of a sudden. His eyes dart nervously to the utensils I have in hand and he backs away slowly. “I might have, um, accidentally mentioned how you almost burned your flat down the last time.”

I huff, scandalized. The feeling of butterflies in my guts have disappeared. “And I might just _accidentally_ stab you with this metal fork right here. I can’t believe you used me as a source of entertainment. That’s low.”

“You’re welcome.” Jongho counters playfully as he puts out the plates. My mouth falls open in disbelief. Where is the apology I so rightfully deserve? “They think you’re hilarious. Mingi’s been meaning to challenge you to our very own version of _Kitchen Nightmares_. Not in my house, though. I can’t afford to pay if a fire starts-”

I toss the tissue box in his face before he continues rambling on. Jongho doesn’t seem to feel any more threatened than he did before, his chest shaking with mirth. I send him a pointed look as I strut towards the washroom to freshen up, leaving the rest of the preparations to him.

Reality doesn’t hit me till the moment I come face to face with the mirror. I’ve been feeling jittery ever since I stepped foot into his apartment. _San, _I realise. _He’s coming._ In fact, he’ll be arriving anytime soon.

I feel self-conscious all of a sudden as I lean forward, both hands on the curve of the sink. I scan my reflection and mentally praise myself for doing a good job at taming my thick and wavy hair. I scrutinise my face next. All I have on is a bit of concealer, a sheen of highlight and some cherry lip gloss. After all, my objective is to come off both natural and decent looking.

My attire is fairly casual as well. I have on a black oversized shirt with the words “losdinos” printed in orange and a pair of comfortable khaki shorts. The last impression I want to give off is that I overdressed for an event just two doors away. I tidy my hair a little and touch-up on my lips, deciding that I’m good to go.

“Open up big boy, it’s us! We brought the pizzas.” An extraordinarily deep voice bellows from the outside, booming through the thin apartment walls.

Someone else hoots in agreement. I instantly recognize him as Yunho. “Yeah, let us in! The food’s turning cold.”

Jongho abandons the tablecloth he had been trying to straighten out and heads for the door. I join him hesitantly, feeling somewhat out of place already. He grants me a look of mock disappointment at the ruckus outside. “I have this sinking feeling that the neighbours are looking for their brooms.”

One of his friends must be feeling the same way. “Haven’t you guys been to a housewarming?” The more sensible of the bunch asks, his tone of distaste permeating through the door as we pull it open.

“How embarrassing,” Jongho greets. “Welcome to my humble abode. But first, hand over the gifts.”

“_Embarrassing_,” Yunho echoes smugly. Dark, curly locks fall over his eyes as he picks up what appears to be a haphazardly wrapped gift. “We got you an air fryer. You wanted one, right?”

“And there goes the surprise element. What’s the point of the gift wrapper, then?” Hongjoong laments to no one in particular. He turns to me with a weak smile. “I hope you don’t mind them.”

“Not at all,” I laugh, deciding to play along. “I’ve known Yunho for a while now. I think I can handle this much.”

“Hey, Mei,” Mingi calls as he heads in, eyes disappearing with his beam. To my dismay, Yunho thumps my back painfully in greeting as he passes me by. I don’t bother to chastise him, too preoccupied with other thoughts in mind.

_Where’s San_? My heart sinks in disappointment as the party of three trickles in and I scan the empty corridor. Jongho hadn’t said anything about not inviting him. I don’t realise that I had spoken my thought out loud until Mingi responds.

“Oh, he’ll be late. San’s doing a half-shift at work today. On top of that, he’ll probably spend an hour or two trying to find his way here.”

I muse over in interest. It looks like San wasn’t joking when he claimed to be bad with directions.

* * *

“How about settling for something dark and mysterious?” Yunho proposes dramatically as he gestures with his hands. All at once, an ingenious idea strikes him, prompting him to rise from the couch. “I got it, you guys. How about ‘Pirate Kings’?”

Jongho makes a strangled sound. He jerks the controller in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming banana peel. To his dismay, his character ends up sliding off the bridge and falling headfirst into the river. “That might come off a little too… how do I put this? A little too strong?”

Hongjoong nods from where he sits with his legs folded on the ground, gaze fixated on the screen. He expertly swerves past his opponents and tosses a handful of shells at them. “Jongho’s right. It’ll be good if we sound more approachable.”

“Didn’t we have the unofficial name of ‘Fellaz’ back when we started?” Mingi comments through his loud chewing. “I mean, if all else fails, we can just go back to it.”

Hongjoong turns to me as their heated game comes to an end. “Any idea, Mei? The school’s been pressing us for a new name. We’ll need one soon if we intend to hold stages or compete.”

“Weren’t you guys called the Triple Threat Trio? How about the ‘Fabulous Five’? It sure comes close.” I struggle to maintain a straight face. But alas, my stony expression falls apart when I meet his eyes.

Mingi chuckles as he finishes the last bite of his pizza and licks his thumb. “Come on, that’s basically a rip-off of the _Fantastic Four_. We’ll be a laughing stock for sure.”

“If we’re being honest, half the school population had a grand time with our name. Can’t we finally come up with one that no one can make fun of?” Jongho clasps his hands together as he ponders, his thick brows meeting in the middle.

“Well… I’m good with Fellaz.” Yunho admits as he pops open a can of soda. “We can just use it for the time being and rack our brains later.”

“I’m good with that, too.” A voice from behind adds.

I jerk involuntarily, startled by the presence of someone new. All five of us whip our heads to the back at breakneck speed. San is taking off his shoes by the door where we had left it open. He still sports his work attire, the turquoise shirt I have come to be all too familiar with and a pair of dark jeans.

“Sorry for making everyone wait. I was kind of-”

“Lost,” Mingi completes obnoxiously, his lips curling at the edges. “We figured. But on the bright side, at least you made it before everyone left.”

“That’s a real helpful comment. I appreciate it.” San replies sweetly, his eyes gleaming with threat. He may as well be holding a gun, given how Mingi instantly cowers back into the safety of the couch and deflates.

Jongho watches their exchange in amusement. I can only assume that this is nothing short of their casual, daily affair. He passes the controller over to Yunho, pushing himself off the couch before he hops onto his feet. “Come take a seat. We set some food aside. I’ll go warm them up.”

“Please do. I’ve been starving all day,” San murmurs gratefully. He drops his weight where Jongho had previously sat, his arm brushing lightly against mine. I steal a glance at him from the corner of my vision, acutely aware of just how close we are.

His eyelids flutter close in exhaustion and a few seconds drag by. And then his left eye peeks open and he pulls on a lazy grin. “Hello, fellow literature enthusiast.”

Imaginary fireworks explode around us and my cheeks flush. I even think I heard a choir of heavenly angels singing by my ears. To my utter delight, no one else is particularly interested in our conversation, engrossed in a new round of game.

“Good afternoon. Are you always running late?”

“You can’t fault me this time. I have a valid reason.”

“Just this once then, your excuse is accepted.” I tease him, lightheaded with joy. “How was work today? You look beaten.”

San runs his fingers through his red-streaked hair. “The shop’s as busy as it gets on Saturdays, which sucks, considering how we’re paid the same as weekdays. That reminds me. Your friend Wooyoung was studying there.”

The mere mention of his name leaves me speechless for a moment. Wooyoung hasn’t crossed my mind for a few days and being abruptly reminded of him only succeeds in bringing my mood down.

“Was he studying with Yeosang? Fluffy brown hair, kind of looks like a poodle?”

San remains silent. He seems to be reading my face for answers, as if he had sensed the small change in my mood in the split second I took to recover. He shakes his head carefully, somewhat reluctant to reply. His cat-like eyes appear to be devouring my every expression, a thoughtful look in them.

“Alone, then?” I prod once more, unable to hide my interest. It has been two weeks now since I last saw him, with Wooyoung giving the same excuse of being too preoccupied with assignments. But knowing his tendency to mope about at home when in a foul mood, the fact that he went outside leaves me feeling slightly relieved.

“He was… he was with a girl. She had bangs and was more on the petite side, if I remember correctly.”

His words cut through me like a knife. I never would have thought that I will be so affected by the thought of Wooyoung with a girl. No, it isn’t that I am romantically interested in him. But rather, what disturbs me is the way he had moved on so quickly from our friendship. He even has the audacity and time to go out on a date, while here I am, still confused over what made him upset in the first place.

Thankfully, Jongho arrives at that moment with the freshly heated pizzas. I wouldn’t have known how to react otherwise. My cheery expression from before has melted into one of utter dejection.

“I kept the last slice of barbeque chicken for you.” He declares proudly as he places the steaming plate on the coffee table before me.

“Is anyone else seeing this or am I dreaming?” Yunho demands, leaning forward to gawk at the scene before him. “Who would have thought that Jongho will ever share anything with barbeque sauce on it?”

“No wonder girls think he’s a gentleman.” Mingi exhales in awe. “Be careful, Mei. You might actually fall for him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I manage to choke out as I reach for it, my tight smile not meeting my eyes. Jongho doesn’t seem to see through my facade, smiling widely as he hands San his portion. But someone else is reading my emotions like a book, open and free for show. San’s watchful gaze follows me through the rest of the day, curious and intrigued.

* * *

I stare at the door before me in contemplation, wondering if I should just turn on my heels and head home or finish what I came in mind with. I had rushed over to Wooyoung’s apartment without a second thought the moment Yeosang contacted me. _Head right over_, the text said. _He needs you._ Those six words were enough to send me into a state of frenzy.

Given Yeosang’s personality, he wouldn’t have felt the need for such an ominous text if the situation isn’t dire. But then again, it probably wasn’t a good idea to just hop out of bed and grab a taxi over without any context of the situation. Besides, it’s a little over two in the morning. Wooyoung may have very well fallen asleep.

I scratch my head in frustration. It would have been a wasted trip, then, not to mention that the taxi fare cost a bomb. All through my life, I have never been the type to confront others. But this is necessary, I remind myself. It’s not just anyone. It’s _Wooyoung._ With that in mind, I muster my courage and dial his number, deciding against ringing the doorbell in case his family awakens.

“Yes?” He greets in a heavy slur. My call must have roused him.

“Can we talk?” I plead, my voice wavering. “I’m here, right outside your door.”

Wooyoung sighs deeply into the phone, not bothering to mask his reluctance. His blunt response stings me but I push that feeling aside. Within a few seconds, the front door slams open with such force that I take a step back. Wooyoung materialises from the darkness in his navy pyjamas, his face sunken in and eyes bloodshot. A sweet, foreign smell clings to his skin and my nose scrunches up by instinct.

“What are you doing here at this hour? It’s in the middle of the night, for god’s sake. It’s not safe for you to just walk around and-”

“Have you been drinking?” I demand, positively seething. My hands are balled up at my sides. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve never liked alcohol.”

Wooyoung remains mum as he lowers his head in shame. And then, he presses his lips into a grim line. “Come on in. It’s cold outside.”

“Can we head to the park instead? I don’t want to wake your family.”

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung says dismissively as he steps aside to make way for me. “My brother’s still out with his friends and my parents sleep like deadweight. The only thing that can possibly jolt them awake is an apocalypse.”

I nod and step into the house, still wary of making any unnecessary sound. We creep past the living room in total blindness and when we head into his room, my lips part in horror. The only light he has on is the dimly lit table lamp. Even so, the orange glow it emits is enough to illuminate the extent of the mess that lies before me.

I can’t believe Wooyoung had been living in such a state. A week’s worth of laundry is carelessly piled up in one corner of the room, his notes and textbooks strewn all over the table. What catches my attention is the dozen cans of beer littered on the ground. Some remain unopened, but most are already empty. Without thinking, I grab him roughly by the arm and swings him around to face me.

“What’s gotten into you? Mei, let go,” Wooyoung hisses in pain. He turns mute when he spots the tears welling up in my eyes.

“What’s going on? Just talk to me, please.” I release my death grip.

Wooyoung rubs a hand all over his face in frustration. He stumbles across the room and slumps onto his bed. “Damn Yeosang and that traitorous mouth of his… All I did was ask if he knew how to prevent a hangover.”

“Jung Wooyoung,” I growl, my body taut with anger. My patience has run out of fuel.

“Where do you want me to start?” He tears his gaze away from mine and faces the window. The moonlight seeping in through the half-opened curtains casts a shadow on his face and paints his fair hair silver. As I stare at his stiff profile, I realise that Wooyoung has never felt so much like a stranger.

“Tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not.” He replies simply as he continues staring out into the darkness.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself,” Wooyoung explains, his voice gruff and low. I settle on the chair before his study table and wait for him to continue. His fingers are tightly interlaced above his knees, something I know he only does when feeling nervous.

“I just- I know I’m overly possessive as a friend. It’s wrong of me to be selfish, but I can’t help but hate the thought of you growing close with others. It’s something I have to fix.”

His confession weighs on me like a rock. So that was where his temper had come from when he saw me interacting with San. Wooyoung is probably fine with the others only because he knows them personally. Both of his parents have always been preoccupied with work. The relationship he has with his brother is also distant and estranged.

It dawns on me all of a sudden that this is why he has come to be so insecure and emotionally dependent. The closure this newfound knowledge brings lifts a heavy weight off my shoulders.

“Sorry,” he mumbles when he finally turns to me. His face is creased with remorse.

I can never stand the sight of Wooyoung’s eyes drooping in grief. “You’re forgiven. But before I let you entirely off the hook, who was the girl you were studying with today?”

“Hang on, did you send the FBI after me or something?”

I roll my eyes, glad that we’re back to cracking jokes. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about her. I could have given you so much advice.”

He examines my face in amusement before he breaks into a huge smile. “Are you possibly jealous right now? I’m quite enjoying this.”

I scowl, wondering if I should just reach over for one of the cans and smash him over the head with it. But the state of his physical dishevelment stops me. Wooyoung seems to read my mind, his gaze lingering on where my hand hovers and he immediately straightens up.

“Okay, no. I’m not romantically interested in her. She’s just a stranger I happened to share a table with.”

“Damn, just when I thought you’re finally escaping the clutches of singlehood.”

“Should this really be coming from you?”

I ignore his snide comment. “Now that everything’s out of the box. We’re good, right? You know, we’ll have to thank Yeosang for patching us up. He’s always looking out for us, in that silent way of his.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung agrees as he lowers himself to the bed and stares up at the ceiling. My eyes follow his and I see the multitude of stars above us, luminous in the night. “Do you remember when we attached those glow in the dark stickers? I think we were like, twelve, and Yunho had come over with spares from his house.”

“How can I forget? You ended up slipping off the ladder and bending your elbow the wrong way. Yeosang even called the ambulance.”

“That was nightmarish,” he chuckles as he shifts to his side to face me. There is a glassy look in his eyes as he recalls the memories. “My hand was mangled up real bad. But on the plus side, I was excused from doing work.”

“I’m glad we can laugh about it now. I was worried sick.” I admit, a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. “You had to sit out of basketball matches for months. And let’s not forget how I was made to help you with every little task.”

“Do you think…” Wooyoung murmurs sleepily, his words trailing off. “Do you think we’ll always come back together, like we always have? Even after we fight and quarrel?”

I am about to respond when I realise that his eyes have fall shut. Wooyoung had looked exhausted the entire time, the amount of alcohol in his blood finally taking its toll. The night air is chilly, and so I make my way towards him. I make sure to pull his sheets up to his chin, knowing how much he hates the cold.

Wooyoung will probably wake up in disappointment when he notices that I have gone. But I am all too aware that things have changed. I am a full-grown adult now, no longer the young girl whom his parents used to welcome with open arms for weekly sleepovers. It won’t be good to impose on them by staying over without notice.

And so, I leave Wooyoung a text explaining that I had left in case my parents worry. I tidy his room a little, scooping the empty cans into my arms to dispose of them on the way out. As I shut his door, I answer in a whisper. All I can do is hope that the gentle wind will carry my words to him, gracing his dreams.

“Of course, we will. Always.”


	5. Chapter 5

The most dreaded time of the day has arrived. It is officially the hell hour, otherwise known as lunch. The overpowering smell of baked beans wafts through the air and floods my senses as we follow close behind the human swarm.

“This is terrifying. Breathing has become a chore,” Yeosang laments, his tone laced with displeasure. I giggle against my will when I notice his direct path blocked by a burly male, the muscled form looming at least two heads above him.

Just as I think that things can’t get any worse, the doors to the massive lecture theatre burst open, releasing throngs of students into the narrow corridor. I shudder in trepidation, wondering if we’ve been tossed into an alternative version of the underworld.

Seonghwa sucks in a shuddering breath when someone jabs him in the rib. “My nose tells me that the western is serving grilled chicken and chips again.”

I shoot him a crooked grin. “Yunho will be glad to hear that. He kind of lives on that dish.”

“Yeah, and he’s starting to smell like grease too.” Wooyoung points out as we weave our way into the cafeteria, busy scanning our surroundings. “Have I told you guys that this place reminds me of a gym? Sweaty bodies everywhere. Pretty much the same thing.”

_More like a jungle… It’s all about the instincts, _I think to myself as our group of four sets out on our hunt for an empty table, one pair of eyes in every direction. Seonghwa miraculously spots one amongst the sea of bobbing heads and we sprint over to secure it.

More often than that, we’ll find ourselves huddling pitifully by a decrepit staircase with takeaway food in our laps. Today must be a good day. To my arrant dismay, Wooyoung belches out a throaty burp the moment we settle down and my high spirits from before vanishes.

“How is that even possible? You’re on an empty stomach.” Seonghwa wrinkles his nose, studying the blond in pure incredulity.

“First of all, there are different kinds of burps,” Wooyoung explains all-knowingly. He leans forward on his elbows, a pleased expression sprawled across his face. “I read somewhere that we swallow excess air not only when we eat or drink too fast, but even as we chew gum. Real cool, huh?”

Yeosang merely lifts a brow, unimpressed. “If this much is enough to intrigue you, I am seriously concerned.”

“That was a hungry burp, by the way.” He elaborates smoothly, pointedly ignoring the jab thrown his way. “I’m famished.”

I nod in agreement, mindlessly placing one hand on my hollow stomach. “My belly was growling like a half-starved beast throughout the whole of lecture. Let’s go grab lunch in a bit when the crowd dies down-”

“Anyone keen to hear me burp out the alphabet?” Yunho slithers out from the mass of bodies with an impish grin. Hongjoong trails after him, reeling with second-hand embarrassment. I immediately cast a wary glance at Wooyoung, wondering if Hongjoong’s presence will sour his mood. To my relief, he doesn’t seem bothered.

“_Absolutely_ not. And why are you guys flocking over here?” Yeosang interrogates, jumping to his feet in suspicion as he attempts to peer through the moving crowd. “Isn’t there that particular table you’re always at?”

Hongjoong throws a few furtive glances around, shuffling close in a discreet fashion. Our group instinctively steers towards him to catch his hushed words amongst the cacophony. “It’s not exactly _our_ table, but yeah, that’s where we usually sit. But for some reason, the rock band’s hogging it today.”

Seonghwa wears a contemplative look on his face as he listens intently. “I’m not surprised. Everyone knows they’ve been meaning to get back at you guys ever since last year’s Summer Festival. They weren’t exactly glad that Triple Threat Trio was asked to close the show.”

Yeosang chuckles derisively and wipes at a tear. “This has to be the highlight of my year. I haven’t heard of such ridiculous forms of rivalry in a long while. What are they, twelve?”

“The whole campus will probably go nuts once people notice,” I add on, amused in spite of myself.

“Politics aside, we’re basically without a roof,” Yunho purses his lips as he stares after his former territory in longing. “It’ll be hard for us to get a table now. This place is about as packed as a can of sardines.”

“Nothing we can do,” Hongjoong states in resignation, patting the taller on the shoulder. “Or rather, we’re not going to entertain them. That’s exactly what ‘Rock Ur Soul’ wants- to irk us. We’ll just get some finger food and be on our way.”

“Knowing Mingi, he’ll probably kick up a big fuss.” Yunho drawls as he shakes his head. “We’ll be off, then. See you all around.”

And with that, the duo bids us farewell as they turn on their heels. They don’t make it far, though, Wooyoung rising from his seat much to everyone’s surprise. “We can make space, actually. You guys want to join us?”

He swiftly removes the books he had stacked on one chair and perches them on his lap, Seonghwa following suit. I look over at them fondly and Yeosang turns to me, having realised the layered meaning to Wooyoung’s offer. For a split second, we let ourselves indulge in a shared moment of smugness. It makes me indescribably happy to see him keeping his promise to change.

“Now that’s a friend,” Yunho grins as he halts in his steps. Hongjoong beams in appreciation and Wooyoung returns it with a genuine smile.

I mentally thank Yeosang as a sense of relief fills my chest. I wouldn’t have been able to approach Wooyoung without his push in the first place. Who knows how complicated things would have turned out without his help? 

* * *

“Spill it.” Yeosang hisses conspiratorially as he pulls me behind a row of lockers. His grip on my arm is firm, his whisper laced with urgency. For how secretive his mannerisms are, we seem to be hatching some form of heist under our breaths.

Yeosang spares an anxious glance at where Wooyoung is walking ahead, yet to notice that we have strayed behind. “Did you guys talk it out already? He seems fine. Well, eccentric still, but that’s how he is.”

I nod uneasily, squirming under the intensity of his piercing stare. Despite being a whole inch shorter than I am, Yeosang manages to intimidate me with those huge, expressive eyes of his. “I headed over to his place once I received your text. We had a heart-to-heart talk and patched up after.”

“I’m glad,” the brunette exhales as he runs his fingers through the back of his hair. “I thought I was in an alternate universe where the two of you weren’t friends. Things were weird as hell.”

“I know, it sucked how he wasn’t willing to talk to me.” I frown at the memory. “It’s good that it’s all in the past now. Thanks for being the middleman.”

Yeosang breaks into a wide beam, glad that the worst is over. I’ve been a single child all my life, but the way he is so naturally protective had always made him feel like an older sibling. “No big deal. I’m a simple man. Treat me a drink and we’re even.”

I toss him an acidic look. So much for the warmth I felt just moments ago. “I should have known. You had an ulterior motive all along.”

A sly smile crawls onto his face as he steps out from behind the locker, signalling the end of the conversation. Yeosang doesn’t bother giving me a response as he jogs into the distance, falling in step with Wooyoung’s pace. “Shall we head to the mall? It’s been some time since we’ve hung out together.”

“Sure. Why not?” Wooyoung hooks one arm over the other’s neck without warning, causing both of them to lose their balance and stumble about clumsily. “I’ve got nothing on anyway. The initial plan was to just head home and become one with the couch.”

“I can’t, sorry.” I wince and Wooyoung visibly stiffens, disappointment in his eyes. “I’m down for gardening duty.”

He purses his lips. “Can’t you skip it just this once? I’m starting to think that you’re married to the club or something.”

“Let’s just say that Seonghwa got really mad at me that one time it slipped my mind. He was this close to wringing my neck like a towel.”

Yeosang turns to me, sympathetic. “We’ll wait for you. It won’t take long, right?”

“I’ve got quite a bit to do, actually. You guys go on ahead. Besides, it’s not like I’ll vanish off the face of earth after today.”

Yeosang hums in agreement and Wooyoung pulls a sullen face. I shrug, offering him a deadpan look that reads ‘nothing I can do about it’. But the truth is, I’ll have a needy Wooyoung over a moody one any day.

* * *

Ignoring the sign that screams “Entry Prohibited” in bold, I continue making my way up the spiral staircase and towards the metal door. The sheer blueness of the pastel sky greets me the moment I turn the dusty handle and step out into the open.

I immediately pinch my nose. Wooyoung had followed me up here once. That was also his last time. He attributes it to the “musky stench of sweat that oozes from the stinking gym mats.” He wasn’t wrong. From what I’ve gathered, the cheer team hasn’t washed them since they were first established.

Despite being strictly out-of-bounds, the rooftop has ironically been converted to a convenient place of storage. Rumour has it that the rugby captain chanced upon it while scouting for an isolated corner to make out with his girlfriend. But whatever it was, most clubs now utilise the once barren wasteland as a rent-free warehouse, storing whatever excess their allocated club rooms can’t contain.

The gardening club is no exception. Even the normally rule-abiding Seonghwa decided to close one eye. He had held my gaze with a look of determination and squared his shoulders, claiming that “stashing away the rusty tools by the garden will only mar its aesthetics”.

I almost knock into the three-legged desk leaning by the entrance when I notice a figure standing before me. The male in the distance has both hands set on the railing, his back slightly curved as he hunches over it. I throw him a look of curiosity, wondering if he had headed up here for a smoke.

And that is when the clouds above shift and douse him in an orange glow. The sunlight envelopes him whole, uncovering the red highlights in his hair that were previously unnoticed. My lips part in surprise as I take in his lean frame and broad shoulders beneath the white shirt.

It is San all right. I have memorised all the curves and angles of his body too many times to think otherwise. My heart leaps out of my chest as I half-skip over, a wide grin on my face.

San appears troubled for some reason. As I approach the edge, my attention is drawn to the photograph he holds carefully between his fingers. I can barely discern the image of him standing beside a female, one arm wrapped around her shoulder before he whirls around. His eyes meet mine and he immediately rips it out of sight.

“What are you doing here?” He demands, gaze darting back to the photograph in his hands before he shoves it into his pocket. I take a step back, flustered by his reaction. I hadn’t meant to pry. As if processing his harsh words all too late, San hastily plasters on a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he clarifies. Unlike his usual laidback demeanour, his posture is taut and uneasy. He reminds me of a feline on the hunt, ready to prowl.

“I came by to fetch the shovel. Had to remove some weed.” I attempt to return his smile, hoping that he’s not close enough to hear the slight tremors in my voice. It feels awkward on my lips, the image of his initial reaction still burned into the back of my mind.

I’m well aware that his personal affairs are none of my business, but the way San had been so desperate to conceal the picture only highlights the unbridgeable space between us.

“Seems like fate that we keep bumping into each other.” He mutters distractedly and butterflies swirl in the pit of my stomach. The feeling of hurt disappears entirely and I admire his side profile, his hazel eyes staring off into the distance.

I guess one reason why I’m so drawn towards him is how he always appears in the unlikeliest of places, somehow managing to find a way into the different corners of my life. First, it was the café, and then it was the garden and now this. I feel an odd sense of comfort as we observe the world beneath our feet. The liveliness of the city has never felt so far away.

“Honestly,” San begins, fingers tapping the railing in a mindless rhythm. “I’ve been coming here ever since we met in the garden. It was my sanctuary up till your club started to care for it. I figured that I should leave... if I wanted some peace and quiet.”

I gasp mutely in shock, eyes widening. I hadn’t expected this. For a split second, I had even let myself assume that we share similar sentiments, that he too, regards such moments between us as something special. Bits and pieces of my memories come together as I digest San’s confession. I could never catch a glimpse of him at the garden no matter how often I dropped by. Had I been such a nuisance, so much so that he was pushed to seek out a different place?

San glances at where I stand frozen and chuckles. The light and melodic sound seems jarringly out of place, like a rainbow during a thunderstorm. “You didn’t drive me away if that’s what you’re thinking. I just enjoy being alone from time to time. Especially since my friends are a noisy bunch. You’ve seen them.”

My brain refuses to internalise his explanation even as it enters my ears. All this time I’ve been chasing after a ghost, trying to catch his shadow when he’s been intentionally trying to avoid me. San falls silent as he examines my crestfallen expression, a guilty look on his face.

“You’re hurt,” he says, stating the obvious. San might as well have pointed out that the grass is green.

“No no, I understand. Don’t worry about it.” I wave his words away dismissively. I force an awkward laugh as I trudge over to join him by the railing. How I wish there exists a way for me to brainwash myself into erasing the moody thoughts.

“Your new hideout is safe,” I utter jokingly, although admittedly, I do come off a little bitter. “I’m only here whenever I need to grab something. And most people don’t head up unless absolutely necessary.”

“Let me guess.” He scrunches his features in the slightest, head tilting to the side. “It probably has something to do with the cheer team.”

“Impressive! One point for mister Choi San.”

His lips quirk to the side lazily as he leans in close, looking as though he is about to share a secret. “And that’s why I’ve been contributing heavily to the air freshener sales at the local mart. They work like magic.”

“That’s genius,” I say in genuine awe and his smile deepens, adorable dimples on display. San looks much brighter than before.

The version of him which had appeared so cold and distant just mere moments before is gone without a trace. The sunken silhouette in the distance, shrouded in obscurity has now been replaced by the easy-going San I know. Was the look of distress I saw clouding his features just a part of my imagination?

The throbbing sun hangs in the distance as the fuzzy clouds drift by overhead. The brilliant smear of red and yellow over the horizon is picture-perfect. As I bask in the warmth of the afternoon light and the sound of San’s infectious laughter, I silently pray for this moment to last.

A part of me will always wonder about the girl in the photograph, but for now, just getting to spend time alone with him is enough to make me forget.

* * *

I sieve through the letters in hand, one shoulder against the peeling wall when a particularly bright leaflet grabs my attention. I drink in the bold, animated letters mindlessly when its contents hit me. The bright yellow paper is an advertisement for the school’s upcoming annual Summer Festival. How had the biggest event on campus managed to slip my mind?

A puff of gentle wind tickles my skin as I continue browsing through the leaflet. Something in the morning breeze smells like sweet honeydew and flowers. I can’t remember the last time I’ve woken up this early on a non-schooling day. The sunlight appears to be that much brighter, the air fresher. Maybe it’s all in my head. But one thing is for sure- I do feel less like a sloth today.

The elevator doors slide open and I trot forward, eyes still trained on the words. I barely make it in when someone coughs gruffly in the distance. “Excuse me, but I think there _might_ be a damsel in distress.”

I spin around immediately and there is Jongho standing across the lift lobby. He has at least four bags of groceries in each hand, all looking as though they might burst open any second now. Jongho looks absolutely endearing with his face flushed pink and his hair mused. I bite back a laugh as I hurry over to lend him a hand.

“Not going to lie, I never thought this day would come. Whatever happened to those bulging biceps you’ve been flashing on social media?”

Jongho groans as he hands over a few misshapen paper bags, his eyes shining with agony. “I might have the body of a Greek god, but let’s say that I’m only human.”

I cringe in response as we head towards the lift, both letting out tiny huffs as we struggle with the weight. “I mean, self-love is great and all, but…”

He lifts a thick brow in a playful kind of challenge. “But?”

“Hang on,” I pause, piecing the puzzles together in my head. “Have you been bulking up? This is way too much food for someone living alone.”

“Am I just a glutton in your eyes?” Jongho chortles in disbelief, writhing one hand free to reach for the button. “But no, they’re not all for me. Half of them are for Mr Lee, silly. I’ve been getting his groceries every weekend.”

The image of our sweet, old neighbour comes to mind and guilt pulses through me. Me Lee had suffered from a bad fall about a month back when he tripped in the shower. I had gone over a few times to check up on him, but how could I have simply left it at that? I should have known that it’ll be hard for him to carry out seemingly mundane chores.

“You should have told me,” I protest, my tormented voice bouncing off the four walls of the enclosed space. “I would have gone with you.”

“I volunteered for it. There’s no need to feel bad.” Jongho says dismissively as he takes in my crestfallen expression. “But if you have to know, I did try asking if you’ll like to come along. I knocked on your door the first morning and your mom opened up. Said it’s impossible to rouse you till lunch.”

I gawk at him in horror, wishing that the bottom would just disappear and swallow me whole. My mouth flaps open and shut as I scramble to find a reasonable excuse. “I- I mean, it’s the weekend! You can’t possibly expect me to wake at the ass crack of dawn like you do for daily runs. Just as you said, I’m only human_.”_

Jongho seems to enjoy the way I’m babbling on like a fool, his dark eyes glinting with humour. The amused manner in which he stares at me makes me feel as though my entire being has been set on fire, humiliation radiating through every pore. “Call-back humour, huh? Good one. I’ll give you that.”

“Flattered. I’m glad you like it,” I sulk in a dry tone, busy wallowing in self-pity. I can’t believe that my mother had felt the need to reveal such a shameful habit of mine.

Jongho isn’t done taunting me, lips still curved in a sinister grin. I am possessed by the sudden urge to smack that cocky look right off his face. It’s just too bad that my hands are occupied. “You know, I used to wonder why you only turned up at Vanilla Huxley when it was crowded during the afternoons. I cracked this mystery at long last.”

I paint on a threatening smile, hissing through clenched teeth. “Last warning. You’re really pushing it.”

Jongho bursts into a fit of laughter at that. Luckily for him, the lift grinds to a halt at that very instant, the automated voice announcing our arrival at the twentieth floor. He scampers out of the cramped space as if he could sense how I was about to drop it all and sock him in the stomach.

“Just put them over at my place,” Jongho utters as he fumbles for the keys in the sides of his sweatpants. “I’ll sort out what’s mine, then bring the rest over to Mr Lee.”

I nod, kicking my shoes off as he holds the door open for me. I almost miss his next words as I hurry into the kitchen, desperate to let the weight down. No longer filled with the intention to tease, Jongho’s voice is much gentle than before, his voice warm and sincere.

“Thanks a bunch, sleepyhead. I appreciate this.

My first instinct is to spit out a retort at his cheesy words. But strangely enough, whatever retaliation I had conjured on the tip of my tongue is now stuck in the back of my throat. I am suddenly grateful for the fact that my back is to him as I unload the groceries. Jongho will never let me live it down if he sees how flustered I am.

“Whatever,” I manage to choke out as I fold the bags into neat little squares. “Just hit me up next weekend. I’ll try my best to leave the bed.”

* * *

I rub my eyes in a circular motion, wishing I had managed to get some rest the previous night. I had tossed and turned under the sheets for hours in a futile attempt to sleep, my mind whirling with anticipation for the morning’s arrival.

Yunho had invited us over to a resort a few towns away during our one-week holiday. He had stuck out his chest proudly, declaring that his uncle could pull some strings to let us broke university kids stay free for a night. For how excited I was in the weeks leading up to our vacation, I definitely did not expect it to start off this way.

The passengers are in the midst of an uproar as Wooyoung swerves dangerously across the traffic like an amateur in ‘Mario Kart’. I feel like a zombie, too worn out to engage in their fervent protest. To make matters worse, Yeosang notices that Yunho’s safety belt is not on and starts to berate him for it. My head throbs painfully like a ripe watermelon about to explode.

“Can’t you let me out for just a bit?” Seonghwa pleas under his breath, his complexion pale and sickly. With a feeble finger up in the air, he motions for me to open the window. I oblige and hot air gushes in from the side as I do so. “…Don’t think I can hang on much longer.”

“Not possible. We just entered the highway.” Wooyoung answers helplessly from the driver’s seat. I glance out and indeed, all that greets me is the never-ending line of thin, scraggly trees and the occasional thickets of bush. The crumbling road stretches on in the distance, weed poking out from between the cracks.

Yunho peeks into the rear-view mirror from where he is strapped into the front seat. “Holy shit, he’s turning green.”

“That sure made things better.” Yeosang’s forehead is pinched with concern as he takes in the way Seonghwa slumps across the seat like a boneless fish. His eyes dart across the vehicle, in searching of something. “Does anyone have something actually useful to contribute? A plastic bag, perhaps?”

I fumble through the massive backpack I had brought along for my wet wipes, vaguely remembering that I had tossed a pack in on the way out. The car lurches forward without warning and my body is thrown forward. I let out an involuntary shriek, the sound loud and piercing.

I gasp for air as I cling onto the door handle, heart racing impossibly fast. “Jung Wooyoung! Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“That was an accident. I hadn’t meant to go this fast.” Wooyoung gulps in shame. His knuckles have gone white from where he holds the steering wheel in a death-grip. “I sped up a little to make sure we arrive before Seonghwa pukes his breakfast out. My dad would throttle me.”

Yunho twists his neck stiffly as he peers over to the back, looking somewhat dazed. And is that amazement I see shining in his eyes? “Guys, I had a three-second out of body experience. Felt like we were already on a ride at the amusement park.”

I gawk at him in disbelief. Yunho sure views things from a unique perspective. I turn to Seonghwa’s crumpled torso and let out a tiny sigh. “This is partly on us for taking up Wooyoung’s offer. It somehow slipped my mind that he failed the test seven times.”

“Why didn’t I know about that?” Seonghwa exhales shakily, eyes bulging with genuine fear. He immediately tightens the seatbelt. “Would definitely have thought twice before I hopped into the car.”

“Oh, no worries. We’ll probably make it out alive,” Yeosang responds soullessly. “I was with him on both occasions when he crashed the car.”


End file.
